Drake's Guardians of the Galaxy
by AllStarDrake
Summary: A motley band of criminals come together to save the galaxy in this reimagined Marvel Universe! The charming thief, Peter Quill; Rocket Raccoon, the cyborg from the Keystone Quadrant; the tree-man Groot; and the Terran astronaut Heather Douglas make up the Guardians of the Galaxy! Part of the All Star Marvel Universe. Check out my page for more details. R&R.
1. Take Off

**NOTE: Issues 1-4 of this fic were written before the movie came out. Nearly every similarity between this and the movie is purely coincidental. The comics are the heaviest inspiration for the story. Visit my page for more information on this title, the release dates for issues, and my writing in general, or just go to All Star Marvel (a link is on my page). All 5 opening issues are already up on ASM. Also, I'd love it if you threw in your thoughts with a review. I promise I'll reply to every one. **

**GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY**

**#1: More Than Meets the Eyes Part 1**

**Take Off**

"Peter, we have arrived at the Planet Halokos in Squadron Delta of the Spartoi Empire. I recommend that you cease sleeping and begin readying for your imminent crime."

One Peter Quill grumbled as he rolled out of a cot in his rough, T-shaped, cadatronium fueled Kree Ka-Dull class ship, Milago.

He ran a hand through his messy blonde hair as he replied to the ship's AI, "Call it a job, Mil. I told you that. A job. Calling it a crime makes it sound so…criminal."

"You are partaking in a 'job' deemed illegal by seventeen different laws in the constitution of the Spartoi Empire, correct?" Milago said. Peter slipped on a white shirt made of an incredibly soft but thick Skrull fabric and a pair of blue pants. Holes were scattered around the calf portions of the pants. He then put on tight black gloves.

"Well, yes, but…"

"Then it is a crime," Milago retorted.

"I hate you," Peter whispered as he threw on black stockings and brown leather boots.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing," Peter called back. He grabbed and put on a utility belt filled with every little toy, trick, and form of currency he may need. Next, Peter threw on his signature red leather jacket and stood in front of the mirror.

"Am I attractive or what?" Peter said.

"I suppose by most definitions you are appealing aesthetically, but you would stand out amongst any crowd that would deem you 'attractive' because of your…"

"My weird appearance, yeah, I got that," Peter interrupted, "Too short to be a pink Kree, and too tall to be a Spartoi. My face is shaped like no species of being I've ever encountered, and my golden hair is unique in a galaxy of dark-haired pink skins. I'm weird, I know…" Peter's expression softened as he glanced at himself in the mirror, "I just wish I knew why."

Peter sighed and shook away the thought. Now wasn't the time to think about his heritage. Whoever and whatever his parents were, they'd never been there for him. They didn't matter. What mattered was the job. The Captain had hammered that into him from day one when he had found him on that Kree moon over twenty years ago.

Peter turned back around to his cot and threw away the pillow, exposing a curved knife. He slipped it into his belt. Next, he pulled out two silver, duel-pronged blasters from his chest of drawers.

".80 centurion Kree Roguekillers. Best gifts I ever got," Peter grinned as he slipped the blasters into holsters on his belt.

"The Captain gave you a great many things, Peter. I believe as far as usefulness goes, however, that the rocket jet attachments for your boots would be the most helpful and therefore the best gifts he gave you," Milago's feminine robotic voice echoed through the room. Peter shook his head as he slipped on the aforementioned rocket jets onto his boots.

"The Captain didn't give me a d'ast thing. Krodo was the one who left me these."

"The Captain used Krodo as a means to an end. You know that.

"Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't matter now. The Captain and the rest of the crew are dead. I'm all that's left of the Redfins," Peter left his bedroom and approached the hatch of the ship.

"Open up, Mil," Peter ordered.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Milago asked. Peter felt a cold piece of metal get pushed against the back of his neck.

"Right. The Helmet."

"And universal translator. Without it, if your employer does not speak Intergalactic Common, you will not be able to communicate with him/her," Milago said.

"And I could die if Halokos' atmosphere and air isn't compatible with my lungs, yeah," Peter mentioned, "I know. Just a little nervous is all. Forgetting the little things."

Peter tapped the piece of metal on his neck, allowing a slick silver helmet to cover most of his head, with the exception of his blonde hair, allowing it spike up over the helmet. The helmet's red lenses glowed brightly and the breathing machine began to work, cleansing the air for Peter.

"Alright, Mil, now it's time."

"Before you go, Peter, I recommend that you fuel me."

"Can't. We're already a little late to the job."

"Peter, I highly recommend…"

"Later, Mil. Now, just open the d'ast hatch." Peter demanded.

"As you wish. Hatch doors opening now…."

A long ramp opened up from Milago's bottom, sliding down to the dusty ground below. Peter marched down the ramp to find himself in a parking courtyard in the middle of a bustling desert city. Waiting at the bottom of the ramp was a tall, gaunt, pink skinned man covered in a hooded robe. He stood about a few inches taller than Peter.

"I assume you are Yondu the Savage?" the man asked in Intergalactic Common. Well that was nice. If Peter's helmet had to translate anything, it tended to slow down the conversation. Everyone speaking the same language made Peter's life a krutack of a lot easier.

Peter nodded his head, playing the con he'd trained to play so well, "I take it you were the top of your class at the Kree academy?"

Peter's voice came through the helmet slightly distorted. The Kree man frowned, obviously not amused by Peter's attitude.

"You are quite the charmer, Lord Yondu," the Kree sarcastically stated, "I am also impressed you could tell I am of the Kree race."

"I was trained to pick apart the differences as a child. You're short for a Kree, sure, but you're much too lean to be a Spartoi. What's your name?" Peter asked.

"Kad-Rol. Please just call me Kad," the Kree motioned away, "And follow me."

Milago's hatch closed as Peter followed Kad away.

"Now, if you wouldn't mind me asking, I was told that I would be able to know you by your large red hair-fin. You are…noticeably missing that attribute. Why?" Kad asked.

"What, people don't change their hairstyles in your corner of the galaxy?" Peter exclaimed, feigning slight anger.

"No, I apologize! Lord Yondu, I did not mean to…I am incredibly sorry!"

"I will let it pass this one time," Peter growled out, "Never doubt me again."

"Yes, sir."

Kad proceeded to lead Peter to a dirty floating car that seemed as if it was about to fall apart. Peter slowly, reluctantly got into the vehicle and Kad took off.

"You couldn't afford better?" Peter wondered aloud.

"My employer…"

"You didn't hire me?" Peter interrupted, "If not, I demand to meet who did! Yondu the Savage does not do blind deals! I—"

Peter began to panic a little. D'ast it all! Why didn't he check with the Kree before following him?! Agreeing to a deal without the employer present was always a mistake. You could get caught in a two-way deal, scammed out of money, or killed.

"Please, calm yourself, Lord Yondu," Kad begged, "My master will show himself once you retrieve the artifact. He will pay you in person."

Peter glanced around. They were already deep into the city. There was no going back now. He sighed and nodded his head.

"Fine…" he tried to calm his nerves by getting to know more about his employer, "What does a Kree want with this…Element Gun, anyway? It's just some sort of useless religious artifact, isn't it? If this works out then the best you'll get is a piece of crap laser gun. Worst? Full on galactic war with the Spartoi Empire, and since you guys are already caught fighting the Skrulls, I don't see why…"

"The Element Gun is more than an artifact, Lord Yondu. It holds a power greater than you know. My employer wants the Gun for the very reason you mentioned: to defeat the Skrulls."

So he is military, Peter surmised. That didn't help. It also meant…

"You're using me in case things go bad. If they do, the blame can't be traced back to the Kree."

"Well…"

"No, it's fine," Peter chuckled a little, "I've been in worse positions in my life, believe me."

"I am happy you are appeased. You will be paid well. Furthermore, if Yondu the Savage is as great a thief as the stories tell, then everything will proceed as planned," Kad said.

"You bet your garnag I am," Peter agreed, "I'll have that artifact faster than Kland-Ur can run the two-forty."

Eventually, the two arrived in front of a large building made of thick gray rock. Gold tiles were scattered around throughout the architecture. This was it…

"The Temple of the Sun God," Kad stated, "You will find the Element Gun here."

"Right," Peter hopped out of the car and pulled Kad out with him by his collar.

"Guess what, Kad? You're gonna help me!"

"What?" Kad shouted, squirming in Peter' grip, "No, I…"

"Want to cause a scene?" Peter interrupted, "Because that's what you're doing right now."

"D'ast you, Yondu. I will not…"

Peter pulled out a blaster from his belt and shoved it into the small of Kad's back.

"Do as I say. I just need one thing from you. Be a distraction," Peter ordered.

"I must stay away. If I get caught…"

"Do it or die," Peter growled.

"My master would kill you," Kad mumbled back.

"You would still be dead," Peter retorted, "And I have a feeling that if I completed the job anyway, he'd just give me the money and let me go."

"Fine," Kad pushed himself away, "I'll do it."

"Good," Peter smiled under his helmet.

The two walked slowly and calmly into the temple. Peter now had his guns concealed. A fairly small crowd of a couple dozen stood around looking at all the artifacts encased in glass. This temple, while important to the religion of much of the Spartoi people, seemed to be more of a museum than a place of worship. Guards stood at the doors. Alright, time to go.

"Now," Peter whispered.

Kad nodded and ran off, screaming. The guards looked over at him.

Kad screamed, "The demons are everywhere! EVERYWHERE!"

All but one guard left their positions to apprehend the seemingly crazed man. Peter lifted a finger to his helmet, right above his left ear, and whispered, "Milago, now."

"Yes, sir," Mil's electronic voice came through the earpieces in Peter's helmet. Suddenly all the lights shut off in the temple. Everything went dark. Peter's lenses switched to night vision. Booyah! He could see everyone and everything, including the Element Gun, which was positioned in the middle of the temple.

Peter approached the Gun as civilians screamed and ran out around him. Six stayed in, seemingly petrified. Odd. The guards scrambled around, trying to find the lights.

Peter reached into his pockets and pulled out a small metal square. He activated the device and the clear metal surrounding the Element Gun turned into liquid and got sucked into the box. No alarms went off. Milago really had done her job. Not only had she specialty EMP'd the lights, but she had knocked out their alarm system as well. Now the only tech working in the building was Peter's gadgets and the guards' weapons.

Speaking of the guards, they had left Kad alone now. The Kree man had apparently run out of the building. That was fine. His job was done.

Peter picked up the Element Gun. It was tough to tell in his mostly red vision, thanks to the lenses, but the gun appeared to be made of old, rusted metal. A faint orange glow emerged from an orb near the hilt of the weapon.

Peter was tempted to try it, to see if it would work. According to legend, it was the weapon of a demigod hero, the chosen warrior of the Sun, and it allowed the demigod to use all four elements as a weapon. Supposedly to the use the weapon, the hero also had to be pure of heart, the best of men. Peter figured it was just some relic. But maybe….No. He resisted. Now wasn't the time.

Peter began to creep out of the room, carefully avoiding the guards. Surely the local law enforcement was coming now. This was a big deal. Which reminded Peter….why the hell had it been so easy? That was odd.

Suddenly the lights turned on. Of course. Peter's lenses instantly reacted, returning to normal. The guards all turned to face Peter.

The man put his hands in the air, the Element Gun still in hand, "Now, guys, I can explain…"

Just as quickly as the lights had turned on, the twelve guards were shot down—by Kad-Rol!

"Holy krutack!" Peter cried out, letting his hands down, "You saved my life. I mean, wow, you're a fast shot, Kad…"

Peter quickly quieted himself as Kad refused to lower his rifle, instead moving his aim to Peter's chest. Peter frowned. This wasn't good.

"Give me the Element Gun, now."

"I'm sorry…what?" Peter exclaimed, "Is this about earlier? Because I am sorry. I needed your help. C'mon, Kad, the Spartoi Law will be here any minute!"

"You were never getting out of this alive, Yondu, but I'll make your death quick if you give me the Gun _now_," Kad roared. Suddenly, all the remaining civilians in the building turned to Peter, assault rifles in their hands.

"Son of a—" Peter looked around, "You set this place up. You probably paid The Law off too!" Kad didn't respond.

"Why the hell did you need me anyway?" Peter demanded.

"You said it yourself, Yondu. To take the blame when this inevitably falls apart. I can only pay people so long," Kad replied. He reached out his hand.

"Now, give me the Element Gun."

"You krutacker," Peter growled, "D'ast you! You planned this from the beginning!"

"To get the Element Gun and take down one of the most hated criminals throughout the Kree Empire? Killing two kulags with one blast. It truly was stupid of you, Yondu, to trust a Kree after all the times you've embarrassed our people. Now, for your foolishness, you die."

"Yeah, well," before Kad could fire, Peter let his helmet slip down, "I'm not Yondu!"

"What in the Supreme Intelligence's name are you? Spartoi?" Kad wondered, "And do you really think it matters who you are? You're still dead." Kad raised his rifle.

"I figured you'd say that," Peter sighed, "To be honest, I thought this might happen."

"Any last words?" Kad asked.

Peter grinned and his helmet slid back over his head, "You really should've just shot me."

_BOOM!_

The wall behind Kad exploded as lasers burst through the rubble, piercing the Kree soldiers. Milago floated in the air, blasting every enemy in sight. Peter jogged towards his ship. He could hear the Spartoi sirens.

"You stupid…"

Peter kicked Kad to finish him off as he ran past. Milago's hatch opened up and Peter hopped inside.

"So long, krutackers!"

Milago burst into the air. Peter threw the Element Gun onto the ground and ran into the pilot's chair, taking the controls.

"We have three Spartoi Law ships on our tail," Milago explained.

Peter looked down at their radar, "I can see that." He pulled a lever and the ship began speeding up.

"We just need to outrun them."

"About that, Peter…"

"No talking, Mil," Peter demanded, "I've got to concentrate." The ship dodged laser blast after laser blast. They hit the atmosphere. Milago continued to accelerate.

"Peter, the ship is nearly out of fuel," Milago said.

"I'll refill you later. For now, we're going warp speed," Peter grabbed a lever and began to push it forward.

"In 3, 2, 1…."

Nothing. The ship stopped moving altogether.

"What the d'ast is going on?" Peter demanded.

"I told you," Milago argued, "I'm out of fuel. In fact…I'm getting…sleepy…."

"No, Milago! Don't!" The engine stopped humming. Milago went silent. Peter slammed his fists against the controls.

"D'ast!" Peter cursed. He sighed. There was only one thing he could do now. Peter found where he'd dropped the Element Gun and a bucket full of cadatronium, a blue mineral. He tossed some cadatronium into a slot in Milago's side. It wasn't enough to get the ship moving, but it gave Peter time to do one thing.

"Milago, hide the Element Gun somewhere where no one can find it. Don't tell me where it is. They'll try to torture it out of me…."

"CRIMINAL! THIS IS KILKOMMANDER R-CHER OF THE SPARTOI EMPIRE! WE DEMAND YOU SURRENDER THE ELEMENT GUN AND YOURSELF TO US IMMEDIATELY! IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY WE WILL USE LETHAL FORCE!" The voice echoed through Milago's radio.

"Milago…" Peter begged.

"Consider it done," Milago used her AI appendages inside the ship to pick up the Gun.

"I'll find a way out. I'll find a way to free us, I promise," Peter patted a wall of Milago reassuringly, and then approached the controls. He clicked the communications radio.

"My name is Peter Quill. Board my ship, arrest me, and then go krutack yourself."

Peter leaned back, took off his helmet and frowned. This wasn't it. One con? One job? No…he wasn't done. He'd find a way out and when he did, he'd hunt down the son of a smargol who set him up and make him wish he'd never crossed paths with Peter Quill.

**-GotG-**

The sun shined gently down upon Houston, Texas on a fine spring day as thousands of people rushed around, trying to get the very best look they could at history in the making—humankind's first manned space flight to Mars!

"'One small leap for man, one giant leap for mankind…'" The President of the United States of America sat in his own private area, surrounded by a dozen Secret Service agents, a handful of other world leaders, and Nick Fury, director of SHIELD.

"We've done it again, Nick," The President beamed, "Soon we'll be actively living on Mars. Maybe we'll discover extraterrestrial life there…find out we aren't alone in the Universe after all."

Nick couldn't—or rather wouldn't—smile back. Something about the day felt off to him. Of course, they couldn't just stop the launch because he had a bad feeling. This flight was a bigger deal than just the scientific opportunities it provided. It had been the first real large scale collaboration between the U.S.A., China, Russia, and the U.K.. since World War II. The crew onboard was made up of eight men and women, split evenly by their nationalities. For Nick to stop this, the diplomatic results could be catastrophic.

"I'm going to go get a drink. I'll be right back," Nick walked away, leaving the President a little upset at his broody attitude on this celebratory day.

Meanwhile, onboard the spaceship, designated the Boeing Minerva 2, the crew of eight sat down, ready for their launch.

"Minerva 2, are you go for launch?"

The captain of the ship, a man by the name of Jack Flag replied, "Houston, we are good to go. Ready when you are."

Jack was a tall man of military demeanor. His brown hair was buzzed short and, surprisingly, definition could be seen through the thick suits the crew wore.

Next to him sat his fellow American, Heather Douglas. Heather was petite, but fit. Her brown hair was tied back into a ponytail.

"Are you excited, Jack?" Heather pushed. Jack normally kept to himself, even despite all the training and bonding exercises they had done together. She hoped to finally get something out of him.

"Mhm," Jack nodded.

"Minerva 2, we launch in T-Minus one minute."

"I can't wait to see the stars and Mars. The possibilities out there…they seem endless," Heather continued expressively. Jack didn't say anything in return.

"I wonder if we'll find extraterrestrial life on Mars," Heather said, "Do you think we will, Jack?"

Jack suddenly perked up, "Extraterrestrial life on Mars? I don't know about that, but it is out there. I'm sure of it. I just hope I get to see it someday. It's my dream."

"Yeah?" Heather smiled, "It's mine too, actually, but…for different reasons than yours, I'm sure." Jack didn't ask why. Heather decided to continue talking anyway.

"My dad…I saw my dad kidnapped as a kid, but it wasn't by some thugs. I swear…I swear it was a spaceship. A UFO. No one believes me. I doubt you do…"

"You want to find him?" Jack looked at Heather for the first time all day.

"Yes," Heather nodded, "And save him if he's still alive. Do you believe me?"

"Yes. I saw a UFO once too. Wasn't anything like in the movies. It was like…a person. It was humanoid, but it had rockets for feet and it was gigantic," Jack paused for a moment before finishing, "No one believes me either."

"Well, I do…"

"T-Minus 10. 9. 8."

"Better get ready," Heather sat back and took a deep breath.

"7. 6. 5. 4. 3."

Adrenaline surged through Heather's blood. It was finally time. All these years she'd trained for this!

"2. 1. Lift off!"

The rocket surged into the air, knocking all of the crew back into their seats. Minutes passed. Everything was going fine. Outside the windows, Heather could see the stars.

Thirty minutes in, the crew was up and moving. Their freedom didn't last long.

Jack Flag sat at the front of the ship, looking out into the stars. Something odd…something glowing had caught his eye in the distance, and it wasn't a star.

"Jack, what are you…" Heather walked up beside him, but she saw it too. The light was getting bigger and bigger. Heather realized it was getting closer.

"Oh God, what is…"

_ZOOM!_

Golden energy encased the ship and in a burst of light, everything ceased to be. Just outside of Earth's orbit, where once a ship had flown, now was nothing.

The Boeing Minerva 2 had disappeared with its crew, seemingly lost to the stars.

**NEXT: PRISON BREAK!**


	2. Prison Break

**GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY**

**#2: More Than Meets the Eye Part 2**

**Prison Break**

Heather awoke as the room around her shuddered. At first sight, the gray walls made her think she was still in the Boeing Minerva 2, but it didn't take long for Heather to realize otherwise. Creatures, beings of all different shapes and sizes stood around her, dressed in blue jumpsuits and cuffed at their hands…or other odd appendages.

Seeing the other cuffs made Heather realize she too was caught in the silver-stained restraints. A faint blue glow emerged from the edges as the cuffs seemed to hum with electricity. Like the others, Heather wore a blue jumpsuit.

Standing towards the front of the room holding guns that looked like they belonged in a sci fi movie were four pink-skinned, short men in white armor decorated with a yellow star on their shoulders.

Holy crap! Heather had been right! Aliens were real. Her father had been kidnapped by aliens! Where was Jack? She needed to tell Jack…

But Jack wasn't around. Heather wasn't even sure where "around" was. The doors towards the front of the room opened and gave Heather an answer.

Herded like prisoners—Heather quickly realized they were just that—were aliens like the ones around her. The aliens were forced into lines down an enormous room—something Heather concluded must be one part of a much larger spaceship, prison, or both. The lines led to a metal device like the scanners at airports. Each alien was stamped with a metal arm before being pushed forward and led away by guards.

Heather was knocked, quite literally, back into reality by a large green alien behind her. The beast of a being had stubby legs and arms, and its head took up more than 60% of its body. Its yellow eyes drilled into Heather. It muttered something like "kalix" before pushing Heather forward. She didn't fight back or hesitate now. Heather marched right on forward.

One of the human-like guards led Heather into a line to the far right of the enormous room. Slowly, as she marched down the line, the amazement and glee faded away, only to be replaced by intense panic and fear. She was a prisoner on an alien…something, and she didn't even know why! No one was around. No one she knew anyway. Jesus, did the U.S. government know about this? Did they know about aliens? Area 51, was it real? And oh God, was she even going to live to find out?

Tears began to bubble up in Heather's eyes. Her throat got scratchy and tight. The gigantic room seemed to close in around her. Heather was just seconds away from fainting before being saved by a voice she never expected to hear again.

"Heather!" Jack Flag stood in a line to the left of Heather, a dozen or so spots ahead. "Heather!" Jack whispered again.

"Jack," Heather mouthed. Jack tried to go back a few spots in line but was knocked forward by a guard, who probably assumed he was trying to avoid the machine ahead.

"Heather," Jack spoke a little more loudly now, but still quiet enough so that none of the guards could hear him, "The others are dead. I saw them…they fought back. The Russians went first. Got Shot. Then the Chinese woman panicked. Got shot too. The man knew when to quit, but…" Jack's expression darkened; his eyes seemed to fade away, "They'd seen enough. The bastards pulled him away and questioned him. Tortured him, right in front of everyone. They didn't seem to like any of the answers he gave them, so they left him to bleed out on the ground. I heard them saying they were going to move onto the others. I think they're talking about the Brits. If things go like they have been, we'll be next."

"Oh my God," Heather whispered, "What the hell are we supposed to do?"

Jack got pushed forward by an alien behind him, "Just stay calm! Don't fight back! Tell them whatever you think they want to hear!"

Now he was dragged away into the machine. The metal appendage stamped his hand. Heather could faintly see it formed four black lines. Two guards then dragged Jack away. He went calmly.

"Jack!" Heather cried out. Jack took one brief second to turn his head, mouth "no" to Heather, and then continue on. But something was off. Maybe Heather had imagined it, but she'd sworn she saw glee in Jack's eyes and a wide grin on his face as he was carried away.

Soon enough, Heather found herself inside the machine. A monitor, almost like a small flatscreen tv, floated out in front of her with a message scrolled on it in an indecipherable language. Within seconds it flashed the same message in a dozen other dialects. Before Heather could ask for help in translating, the appendage appeared and stamped her hand. The mark burned as it was drawn. Harper had a bad feeling it was permanent.

When it was done, Heather looked down at her hand. Indeed, four black lines had been inked into it. Two guards then grabbed Heather, giving her no time to ponder the mark, and began to drag her away. She allowed herself to be dragged along, past aisles of doorways that seemingly led to more than a dozen cellblocks. Eventually, she found herself brought through one of the doorways and into a cellblock labeled in yet another indecipherable language.

Heather was tossed into a blue laser-wrought cell that was empty except for a bunkbed, toilet, sink, and a being that looked more rock than humanoid. The alien stood at nearly one and a half times Heather's height. Its head was arched like a mountain, and two beady black eyes glared right back down at Heather. It had a mouth right under where a nose should have been.

"Wha' they'd get you in 'ere for?" the rock alien asked not only in English, but with an effeminate—if gravelly—voice. Heather now noticed the alien appeared to have breasts underneath the jumpsuit.

"Ya gonna answer me or stare at my d'ast breasts all day?" the rock alien demanded.

Heather shook herself out of her dazed state and looked the alien in the eyes, "You speak English?"

"Dunno wha' English is, but I speak Common al righ'," the alien said, "Now, wha're you in for?"

"I…I dunno," Heather backed away a few steps as the alien took a step towards her. The rock being cracked her knuckles, grinning wickedly.

"Guess, I gotta teach ya the ropes, ness," she said, "Ya give me a straight answer when I ask for one."

"Please…please don't hurt me," Heather took another step back. She could now feel the heat of the laser bars on the backs of her hands.

"C'mon, Kress, leave her be."

Heather's verbal guardian stood at the edge of the cell next to hers. He was tall for a human at about six feet or so, and his blonde hair stuck up wildly. Scratches and bruises littered his otherwise handsome pink face alongside a small beard. His blue eyes had a soft glow to them, as if he thought he owned the world—or the galaxy, rather.

Peter Quill grinned mischievously as he spoke up again, "Don't want to give the new girl the wrong idea, right?"

"I know, I know," Kress replied, backing away now with her hands in the air, "'Was just teasing, is all. Always fun with the new ones. 'Specially here in the Fours."

"Fours?" Heather wondered unknowingly aloud.

Peter lifted up his hand, exposing four black lines like Heather's, "Level Four cells for the minor terrorists, asssassins, and any others deemed fairly dangerous by the Spartoi Empire." Once he saw Heather's blank expression, he continued, amused, "You really are new, aren't you? What are you, anyway? Kree? I mean, you don't look the part, but there's no way in hell you're Spartoi if you don't know what the d'ast Spartoi Empire is."

Heather shook her head, "I'm a human from Earth."

"Never heard of it," Kress admitted, collapsing heavily onto the bottom bunk of their bed, causing it to creak. Peter remained silent, staring at Heather intently.

"You're speaking English, right? You've gotta have heard of Earth," Heather said.

"Nope, this is Intergalactic Common. Your backwater race probably thinks they invented it, but let me tell you, you ain't the firs' ta speak Common. Won't be the last either," Kress stated, before continuing, "If I'd ta guess, I'd say ya were probably visited by the Kree, taught Common. Damn blues and pinks love their krutacking science exper'ments."

"What?" Heather was floored. Was Kress telling the truth? If she was right, then what else had humanity been taught by alien races?

"You—you said level four criminals," Heather began immediately, not missing a beat, "I'm not a criminal! I was just going with some of my people to Ma—to another planet when we were taken!"

"Was this your planet's first long distance space mission?" Peter spoke up for the first time in a while, his eyes brighter than before.

"Yes, but—"

"That's why," Peter began, "The Spartoi have been doing that for a while now. Any primitive race too weak to defend themselves suddenly jumps into the outreaches of space? The Spartoi stops them. Usually eliminates the astronauts. It's a law now actually. The Spartoi feel threatened by the prims—or primitives, sorry—because they tend to bring a savageness and creativity to war unlike any of the more sophisticated races. They can be a wild card. The Spartoi know that better than anyone. Ten thousands years of ruling in peace and then suddenly one of their planet-states jumps up and wages war, and actually manages to get their freedom. That species—the Badoon—may be small right now but at the rate they're growing…at the rate they're gaining support and conquering the galaxy, they'll not only defeat the Spartoi-they'll conquer 'em. Take down the home planet Spartax and kill the king."

"Enough, prisoner!" one of the guards, who'd been standing near the cells listening to their conversation, approached Peter and pressed something on a panel a few feet from his cell. Peter's cuffs lit up and he collapsed to the floor, screaming.

"AGH!"

"No! What are you doing? Stop it!" Heather begged. The guard turned to her and nearly pressed another button—Heather assumed it was hers—when another man reached out his hand and stopped him.

"No," the guard said, "She's just a prim. And we need her conscious. She's due for questioning."

The other guard nodded, and then walked back to his post. Peter's cuffs switched off, but he continued to lie on the ground. It was only now Heather noticed he was alone in his cell. No one was there to help him.

"Sir…" Heather bent down.

"Peter. Peter Quill," the thief muttered weakly.

"Peter…that's an Earth name."

Peter looked up at Heather, his expression unreadable. The glow was still there.

"Earth…" Peter whispered. Heather nodded. And then he fell unconscious.

"Poor man," Kress grumbled, "Been beaten and tortured more than anybody. Celestials only know why."

Heather stood back up and looked at Kress questioningly. The woman motioned for Heather to sit down. She did so.

"So, can you give me the ropes? The Spartoi Empire? Level Four? And this…Peter Quill."

Kress nodded, "Well, the rankings go from one to five. One being petty theft, the like, and five being the wors' o' the wors'…"

**-GotG-**

Later in the day—or night, Heather couldn't be sure which—Heather was taken away for questioning. She was led from her cell into a room a couple hallways down. Like any interrogation room on Earth, it was filled with a simple desk, two chairs on opposing sides where the interrogator and the interrogatee sat, and a light. The one big difference was that the interrogator came in with dozens of blades strapped onto his clothes, all subtlety lost over the lightyears.

"You speak Common, correct? You are from Earth?" the man asked. Heather nodded. "And you know a John Flag?" Heather nodded again.

"Your name?"

"Heather Douglas."

"And do you know why you are here, Heather?" the stout interrogator, despite all the blades, was a little hard to take seriously. He was shorter than even the guards Heather had seen, and they all stood at about five-four, five-five, and he was incredibly fat. So fat, in fact, that he didn't fit on his seat.

"Yes," Heather admitted, "Although it took some explanation. We broke a law in the Spartoi Constitution. No prims" Heather amusingly found herself using the slang, "Are allowed to engage in long-ranged space flight unless deemed necessary by the Spartoi Empire."

"Good, none of the other Terrans could explain that to me. It seems your race, despite its isolation, is acquainted with the Spartoi people and their greatness." the interrogator surmised.

"No. My cellmate explained it to me," Heather said, "We are not aware of the infallible and awesome Spartoi Empire. I have only today become acquainted with your incredible culture."

The interrogator appeared pleased by Heather's response. He grinned devilishly, "Why, yes, I suppose I should have guessed that. You know, don't tell anybody this, but if I was the king then I'd have sent a party to Earth by now. Your planet is truly gorgeous, if a little behind the times. I actually think that's what is beautiful about it…it's almost…ancient. I can't even think of a picture I've seen of Spartax when it still looked like that." Heather tried not to laugh. This man wasn't anything like she expected.

"We could use the help of your wonderful king, J-Son," Heather lied, "The Spartoi could save our people from assured destruction."

"Oh yes, you are a chaotic, messy race. That's another reason we'd be in control of Earth if I were king; d'ast all the Krees and Skrulls. The Earth needs saving from itself, from its primitive people, no offense meant of course," the interrogator gleamed, "You know, I quite like you, Heather. You aren't like the others. They were all so angry, except for that John Flag man. He was just…odd." That about summed it up. But now that the man was on her side, Heather had to ask.

"Are any of them alive?" Heather wondered innocently, "If you wouldn't mind me asking."

"Oh, I suppose not," the man said, "Yes, but only one. John is alive." Heather silently thanked God.

"Well, I suppose you know your place, and you know why you're imprisoned, so you're free to go. But your offense is quite serious, so I can't promise you a pass on your execution, but you will be given a fair trial…"

"Execution?" Heather exclaimed, before quieting a little, "I mean, I'm sorry, but I wasn't told that I was to be executed."

"Why, yes," the interrogator matter-of-factly stated, "Once we arrive on Spartax, you will be tried for your crimes and if deemed guilty you will be executed. If it makes you feel any better, I'm on your side."

"Thank you. That makes a great difference," Heather lied. She was slowly led out of her room and into the hallway.

She was going to be executed?! What the hell was she supposed to do? She couldn't die! Not now, not when she was so close to finding her father…or at least, closer.

Heather was led into a new room now. It was large, expansive, open. If Heather hadn't been caught up in her thoughts and fears, she'd have noticed it was a cafeteria, almost oddly like any on Earth.

The guard muttered something about a click and that she should avoid the tables on the far right before leaving Heather alone. The Terran woman soon found herself hypnotically trudging down the room, ignoring the shitty excuse for food that was given to the prisoners, and sitting down beside Kress at a table near the center of the room. The alien woman saw her expression and patted her on the back.

"Found out what happens to us, eh?" Heather nodded.

"'S okay," Kress wrapped her large, rocky arm around Heather, "Pete's got a plan."

"Peter's got a plan…" Heather echoed weakly, before being knocked out of her thoughts by a tray that was slammed right in front of her. Peter Quill sat down, a wide grin on his face.

"I've got a plan. You want out of here?" Peter asked.

"Yes. Hell yes," Heather couldn't help but get her hopes up a little when she saw the smile on Peter's face. Something about that man…

"Then I've got to talk to someone," Peter stood back up as quickly as he'd sat down, "Here, don't eat any of my food."

Heather looked down at the pink sludge on Peter's tray. "No promises…" Heather sarcastically joked.

As Peter strolled through the room, two guards grabbed him. Heather could see Peter mouth 'oh no' before getting dragged out of the room.

"What did he do?" Heather asked.

"It happens every day," Kress explained, "I don't know why. The Spartoi here on the R-Son," that was the name of the ship, Heather had learned: the SES R-Son, "take him up and interrogate him for a few clicks at least. Sometimes it's almost a quarter the day. He'll come back down all scratched and bruised. No one knows why."

"Well," Kress stood up, done with her meal, "We won't see him for a while, and when we do next he'll be out of it, so there's no point in wondering about his plan. He'll tell you tomorrow at breakfast. So come on, Heather, I know it looks like flarnag, but you gotta eat something here."

And with that, Kress led Heather to the food where the human reluctantly picked something vaguely reminiscent of a fruit salad. Tomorrow…tomorrow she'd find out what Peter had planned, and soon enough they'd get out of there. Heather had to believe that.

She had to.

**-GotG-**

The next day, at breakfast, Peter had finally regained his composure. He was covered in dozens of new cuts and bruises. Heather had tried to look him over, but Peter shrugged her off.

"C'mon, Heather, I want you to meet someone. I already talked to him and he's cool with you helping out," Peter explained. Heather nodded her head and followed Peter away. Kress followed just behind.

Peter led them to the far right of the room, where the guard had told Heather not to go. He began to approach a table full of (relatively) large Spartoi men and women who were covered in scars. Tattoos layered their pink skin to the point it looked like their natural skin color was blue. One of the men grinned wickedly at Heather. She gulped.

And then Peter turned right and sat down at a table with only one occupant—a raccoon.

"Wait…what?" Heather said. Kress sat down opposite the raccoon and motioned for Heather to sit next to her. The raccoon looked up and met Heather's gaze. He frowned.

"We have a problem, beautiful?"

"No…you're just…" Heather looked at Peter and pointed to the anthropomorphized animal, "He's a raccoon."

"That's my name, yeah," the raccoon nodded, "Rocket Raccoon."

"No, your species…it's a raccoon!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, babe," Rocket looked a little offended, "But I promise you, I'm one of a kind."

"You're a talking animal. Hell yeah, you are," Heather muttered.

Rocket stood up at a little past Heather's knees and held his index finger up at her irritably, "Listen, I don't know if you get off by insulting people, but enough is enough. We've got d'ast important things to talk about."

"C'mon, Rocky," Peter begged, "Girl's new. She's a prim. She couldn't tell a laser gun from a planetkiller, let alone an animal from the smartest man on the ship."

Rocket turned back to Peter and sat down, "Well, when you put it that way…"

Peter glared at Heather. She mouthed an apology and sat down.

"To the important things: how we're getting the krutack out of here," Rocket began, "Pete here and I've been planning this since we met a couple weeks ago. It ain't much, but we gotta act soon 'cause we land on Spartax in a week."

"Really?" Heather exclaimed. Rocket glared at her.

"Yes, hon, we do. Not nearly as scary for me as it is for you though," Rocket held up his hand to show two black lines over his matted fur, "I got to get out of here for other reasons. Got a job to do."

Heather nodded an apology and motioned for Rocket to continue. This time, however, Peter spoke.

"Rocket's built four devices to deactivate our cuffs," Peter began.

"How? When?" Heather whispered.

"Free period. Dumb Spartoi don't expect a Two to be able to count to ten, let alone build something to escape," Rocket then said proudly, "They're good. Very good. And small. Idiot krutackers will never see it coming."

"They are," Peter held up his cuffs, which had been unlocked to eat, exposing a small round device on the edge of his right cuff. It would be unnoticeable if Heather hadn't been looking for it, "They're too small to notice and they won't come up on their scanners. Rocky'll give them to you two tomorrow at breakfast. We act the day after."

"The plan is to just press the devices at about the same time at breakfast that day," Peter explained, "It'll deactivate the cuffs. From there, we knock out a few guards, take their guns and escape. Some will have to stay behind to cause a distraction. We figure that'll be all but me. I'll go up to the monitor room and deactivate everyone's cuffs. Riot ensues. We escape in the chaos."

"That sounds risky as hell," Heather pointed out, "We could get shot during that time. You could, too, Peter."

"It's the best we can offer," Rocket argued, "At this point we gotta try it. On the plus side, we won't be on our own on the way out. That'll make things easier."

Heather and Kress both gave Peter a questioning glance. Peter sighed.

"I don't know about that, Rocket…"

"We have to! I know to everyone here it sounds like the hardest part is getting out of the cafeteria and freeing the other prisoners, but it ain't. I'm the tactician here! Trust me when I say getting out will be the toughest part. We'll have guards swarming us. You'll have to refuel your ship. The list goes on and on. We need Prisoner X."

"Prisoner X?" Kress nearly shouted, before quieting herself, "We can't. You've heard the rumors. He's a monster. They say he killed dozens of Spartoi Law Elites. They say he's invulnerable, immortal, that you can't kill him, and he's a savage, bloodthirs'y beast!"

"_They_ say a lot of things, including I'm harmless, and we all know that's not true," Rocket argued, "Trust me, Prisoner X will be on our side."

"Prisoner X…who is he?" Heather asked.

Peter ran a hand through his dirty blonde hair, "He's…he's the only Level Five prisoner on the ship. If Kress is right…if everyone on the ship is right, he'll kill us as soon as we free him."

"D'ast it all!" Rocket massaged his face, "You wanna know the truth? I've met Prisoner X before… before here. I know him. He will help us."

"And we're suppose' ta just believe ya?" Kress wondered incredulously.

"Yes!"

"Ya really…."

"Enough!" Peter slammed his hand on the table, "Enough. Fine, Rocket. We'll get Prisoner X."

"If we're doing that, then I've got to ask a favor," Heather interjected, "I'd like to take the other human, Jack Flag, with us."

"What? No," Rocket exclaimed, "One human is enough to blow this plan to hell. I will not…"

"Fine," Peter interrupted, "But you have to tell him, Heather."

"I will," Heather agreed. She began to look around for Jack as Rocket complained.

"You gotta be kidding me! Y'know how hard it is to build those devices? Really d'ast hard!"

"Well, then, you better get started," Peter retorted. Rocket tried to argue, but Peter just pointed away, ignoring him. The anthropomorphized animal growled, hopped off the table and walked away, muttering every curse he knew.

Meanwhile, Heather finally caught sight of Jack Flag. He was sitting at a table alone. At last! It had been nearly a day since she'd seen him last! Hell, it had been nearly a day since she'd had any form of happiness, and Heather couldn't help but be happy at the prospect of getting home. The plan seemed risky, sure, but something felt right to Heather. She would get out of the prison, and from there she would find her father and go home.

That was the plan. That was _her_ plan.

**NEXT: The plan begins, but things go horribly wrong!**


End file.
